


After the End

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, Future, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-13
Updated: 2005-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-26 22:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12068475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin heads for New York to chase his dream while Brian is left propping up the bar at Babylon. But is the end ever the end? Post 513 fic. Is a series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Prologue.

 

Some people call it falling in love as if it’s accidental, as if you’re walking down the sidewalk and trip up, grabbing onto a stranger’s hand to balance yourself, and then you look up into their wide concerned eyes, and…just know.

But it doesn’t have to be that way, and more often than not it isn’t. Lust at first sight, most certainly, but love? Isn’t that just a Hollywood concept, created to give hope but ultimately hollow in execution?

It can be painfully slow, inching along without agenda, and then you wake up one morning and look at him lying there, his hair spilling across the pillow, and you realize that somewhere along the way, during nights out at Babylon spent drowning in a semi-lucid drug induced haze, he wrapped himself so tightly into what you thought was your private-party, trespassers-will-be-prosecuted life, that you couldn’t imagine a single day without him.

It happened, and you crashed and flew all at once, and in the space of twenty-four hours everything implodes.

-*-

I. Brian

He left without looking back over his shoulder, and you stood there in the middle of the loft, sunshine pouring in through the windows, staring at the empty spaces where his life used to be. The corner where he kept his easel screamed out in silence, and the chair where he always threw his coat felt cold to the touch. 

You walked around in endless circles, stalking around the open-plan floor like a disgruntled alley cat, your eyes fixed on everything and finding nothing. Work was in an hour and you wanted nothing more than to call in sick, letting Theodore deal with the fallout. But that was never your style, and as you buttoned your shirt, ignoring the space where his clothes had been, you made a promise to yourself that you would go on, even when you couldn’t. You would show them that Brian Kinney was far from dead.

-*-

II. Justin

The airplane was crowded, the sickly-sweet smell of bottled milk floating along on borrowed air in the compacted cabin. You closed your eyes, ignored the flashing light that told you to fasten your seatbelt, and wondered why it was that you suddenly felt reckless to the point of destruction. 

You had your freedom as the plane took to the runway, pelting down the tarmac like a runaway train, and it sat bittersweet underneath your tongue, residing in an oddly familiar way like the heaviness of Brian’s cock.

Your arm was jostled and you looked up into the anonymous face of a nobody, eyeing you like a sniffer-dog. You shook your head, no. This wasn’t a time for games. Ten minutes out of Pittsburgh and already you were being cruised. 

You declined the perfunctory alcoholic beverage, and sat looking out of the window at the rolling clouds. No matter where you go, the sky is always the same.

Less than an hour and your feet were on the ground. You felt giddy, a little sickness from being airborne, and the faint tang of something you were never supposed to know: regret.

The airport was dull, censored under a heavy blanket of your indecision, and you almost turned back, before the nice young man in official airport attire, held out his hand and welcomed you to the Big Apple.

And big it was. How you tried to take a bite, riding a yellow cab down into The Village, and knocking on the door of the friend Daphne assured you would show you around and introduce you to those in the know.

Nobody seemed to know. No matter how many hands you shook, how many smiles you cracked, like the faint trace of morning sun trying to break through a cloud, you couldn’t shake the oppression: the sinking feeling that you had gone out without your key and now there was no way back inside.

-*-

III. Brian

He convinced you that you needed grounding and that the club was the way to do it. You gave in, more to shut him up than anything else, but as the walls were repainted and the new floor was laid, hiding any evidence of the destruction that had almost cost you everything, Liberty Avenue forgot. And so did you.

Re-opening night was an obvious success, and you admit, leaning up against the bar, a Beam in your hand, that part of you enjoyed it. The part of you that cruised around and picked up every available cute guy, rolling them in your hands like easily won marbles. The part of you that closed your eyes and relished the thrum of the beat as it shuddered through your body in a state of almost-orgasm. The part of you that lived easily, carefree in a time when Justin was nothing more than a little blonde twink who followed you around with his big puppy dog eyes and a boner that never went down. 

But everything had changed, and in this mock-stasis, a bubble-sphere that pounded and writhed like a living thing, you felt unsettled and slightly out of touch. You tried to ground yourself, of course, allowing Mikey to look after you the way he always did, wrapping his arms around you and guiding you to a prominent position on the dance floor. His touch was familiar, his kisses even more, and you tried to abandon whatever newfound knowledge Justin had implanted in your brain on the day he left. 

You shut your eyes and swayed to the music, the lights overhead burning rainbow bruises behind your lids, and tried to forget. But it never had worked for you, this forgetting business. You just hid it well. And when Mikey squeezed your hand, slipping from the stand to wrap himself around Ben like a wedding band, you pasted on your performance face and danced like a Maori warrior, kicking up your feet almost as if you felt you could reach a state of Nirvana through the monotonous social ritual.

You couldn’t stop the flashes of memories drilling their way through your skull, could you? A five-minute history of all you knew of Justin, zooming past like a missile intent on death. It was just too much, too soon. The dance floor where you took him in your arms all those times before. The backroom where you pressed him against the wall and wrote your desire across his skin, as if you were the artist and he was the canvas, working together to create some sort of abstract masterpiece.

You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of scenes, splashing the floor of the club like water droplets, and strode out into the night, the fog accumulating on the pavements and dancing around your feet. It was closing in and your head hurt from too much Ketamine. You stumbled blindly home, reading the roads with the soles of your feet and somehow found yourself in bed, sprawled on your back, your eyes clenched tightly shut as if somehow it would prevent you from seeing; your fingers clenched in the sheets as if this was a ship and there was every chance of drowning.

But the only storm was the one called your life.

-*-

IV. Justin

By the third week you had lost five pounds and gained a magnetic attraction to your cell phone, jumping every time it rang and glaring at caller ID like it was your worst enemy. It was never him until that second day into the week, and the only time you failed to check.

You stuck one hand out from under the covers and grabbed the phone, snapping it open before sticking it to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Sunshine!"

You sat up hard, banging your head on the over hanging beam.

"Sunshine?"

"Yes. Brian."

The silence was thick like custard, and nowhere near as sweet. So many things hanging, but no words left to speak. 

"How are you?"

Miserable, completely miserable. But you were determined, which he should have known.

"Fine. Tired. You?"

"The same."

What did that mean? Was he fine and tired, or did he spend every waking moment trying to push back on that itching under his skin, numbing it with every known intoxicant?

"Oh."

"What have you been up to, Sunshine? Found yourself a studio?"

"Sort of"

You had a studio on the east side; a tiny backroom that had little in the way of comforts, but perfect light. 

"I see."

"Brian…"

You left it hanging. His name was floating in the ether like a balloon without a string. One pull…

"Justin?"

"I have to go. I’m meeting a curator for brunch."

"Alright."

More silence, punctuated with his breathing. You smile then, something token, but there all the same. This was something you were familiar with. The little sighs. The quickening of his breath that you pretended not to notice.

"I’ll see you then."

So casual a tossing of words, almost as if they had no meaning, no hidden sufferance that would keep you both awake long into the night.

"I suppose."

And you did. You knew you could go back and see him under the pretence of seeing everyone. Or he could come here to check how you were settling in.

"Goodbye, Justin."

"Goodbye."

Twin clicks.

-*-

V. Brian.

Everyone was worried but they tried not to let on. Ted would bring you endless cups of coffee and linger longer than he needed when you requested his work.

Emmett pranced around you like a ballerina, with his constant talk of party after party and how hot this guy or that guy was. Sometimes you wonder if he really even cared you were there.

Mikey tried as hard as he always did, calling you up at work or popping round for lunch, making sure that you spent most of your nights at Babylon with at least someone by your side. He was almost sacrificing his own happiness until the day Ben came to see you and told you that Michael was barely making it to work on time because of all the late nights.

Linds and Melanie called on a regular basis, spilling stories about Gus that made you feel even more homesick. Their soothing happiness echoed down the phone and taunted you with ringing ears until you could stand it no more and claimed someone had knocked at your door.

Worst of all, nobody spoke his name. It was if he was dead and they were all afraid of his ghost floating around in familiar corners. _Justin, Justin._ You whispered his name under your breath every single time you felt that awkward silence where it should have been uttered. You no longer bothered about the strange looks.

-*-

VI. Justin

Your first art show was a phenomenal success, with five newspaper reviews and one editorial. You spent the evening in your starched suit with the sharp collar, welcoming people you had neither heard of or recognized. 

You were the gracious host, a guise developed from the influences of Emmett and Br--

You weaved your way through the crowds, occasionally pointing out where your inspiration for a painting came from. Then you realized it was all a lie and tried to backtrack but feared the label of ‘crazy artist type’ when all you did was utter that one name.

You felt detached, oddly sparse in your happiness. It was everything it was supposed to be and you sold two paintings in the first hour, four by the end of the night. It was working and you were on your way up.

So why did it feel like you were falling down?

-*-

VII. Brian

They wondered why you didn’t want to fuck. Surely Brian bloody Kinney would want to pull some tricks. So you did, and it felt empty, just as it always had done, but now even the gloss had worn off.

You slammed them into alleyways and iron doors, leaving your fingerprints across their scorched flesh. You bit down into the muscles of their shoulders, just to hear them cry out, and wondered if it wasn’t torture you were courting these days.

You still refused to kiss, and it felt wrong to even try; the first boy who did received a blackened eye for his trouble. 

You rode them hard and fast, as if you were chasing smoke, and they kept coming, lining up around the block as if there has been a draught and now you were back.

The strange new bodies felt familiar in their own way, and you comforted yourself that there would be no strings left attached in the morning. 

You liked it this way, even if you cried his name every time you came.

-*-

VIII. Justin

You fucked people. A few arty types that took their time, and random tricks in clubs that weren’t Babylon. You tried to pretend you enjoyed it, and in a way you did. You liked fucking people, you always had, but it wasn’t the same. 

There were no games, no chance encounters of Brian walking in and looking amused. No stolen moments and getting to throw them out in the morning when he came back from a night on the tiles, tiredness creeping into the fresh lines around his eyes.

There was no joy in it other than the moment of sweet release, and yet you still tried to lose yourself in the tiny murmurs they made, making an elaborate show out of ripping the condom packet with your teeth. 

Many of them came back for more, and couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t give it. You couldn’t understand it either, why you turned down the sweet boy who worked at the cinema, the man who tried to be your mentor, the owner of the expensive gallery by Central Park. 

You didn’t allow yourself to linger on the old rule of _never more than once_. Why would it even be a consideration when you were the one who left him?

IX. Brian

It was Gus who found the rings, and you cursed yourself for leaving them on the coffee table. You returned from the bathroom and found him playing with them, clutching them in his tiny fists and holding them up to the light. 

You stood there watching him for a moment, and then moved to gently pries them away, glancing at them before tucking them back into their velvet box as if they had burned. 

He was just a baby and he couldn’t possibly understand, but when he reached back for them, chuckling a ‘mine!’, you had to smile. 

"They’re not yours, Gus, they belong to Daddy. And Justin."

He looked up at you with wide eyes, and then as if he understood, he clambered to his feet and wrapped his arms around one of your legs.

It was going to be a long visit.

-*-

X. Justin

You didn’t want anybody to visit and see you in this state, this walking-talking-breathing person who existed but yet could not live.

When Daphne turned up unannounced you pasted on a smile and accepted her hugs, filling her in on the details you could afford, like the commission for a new painting, the series of shows you had somehow found yourself lumbered with after a chance encounter with one of New York’s most infamous gallery owners. 

You took tea with her in little Manhattan cafes, whiling away the hours people watching. You allowed her to get excited over the sophistication of New York men, and even tried to join in when she asked your opinion on where to go to find the hottest lays. 

But your heart wasn’t in it, and you think she knew from the way she shot you tiny looks when you stared a moment too long into your coffee cup. 

"It’s okay to miss him," she said finally, her finger tracing a coffee stain circle on the table. 

You shook your head. It wasn’t okay. You were never supposed to feel this much.

-*-

XI. Brian.

You knew he would be coming home when Michael told you that he was organizing a party for Debbie’s birthday. There is no way he would miss something as important as a celebration for his surrogate mom.

You braced yourself and tried to prepare as best you could, losing hours and sleep in the backroom of the club as you fucked someone else. 

They were still worried, maybe even more so, and they all tried to tell you that it was best if you stayed as much out of his way as you could. No good falling hard for him again, they said.

You knew it was all bullshit. You couldn’t fall again because you hadn’t yet managed to climb out.

Brighton stood cold and empty, but the key swung on your ring, next to your car keys and the key to the loft. You couldn’t bring yourself to sell it, and you couldn’t bring yourself to see it. It stood in limbo, but nobody asked so you never told.

The day of the party drew closer, and you shopped for a new suit, telling yourself you needed one and you weren’t trying to impress. You chipped in for the venue, an expensive hotel that Michael could never afford on his own, and threw yourself into long phone conversations with Lindsay about the best place to stay when she flew over with Mel, Gus, and JR.

You spent hours getting ready, combing your hair and using an extra dab of the scent that you remember him telling you he loved. 

You looked in the mirror and cursed yourself for acting so silly. This wasn’t a date. 

Before you left, you shoved the rings into your pocket, and refused to question yourself why. 

-*-

XII. Justin

The plane was late and you had barely an hour before you were due at the hotel. You peeled off your jeans and hopped into the shower, soaping yourself up while you tried to banish images of slick liquid fucks out of your mind.

You dressed, working at your Windsor knot, and downed a couple of glasses of Jack Daniels to keep your nerves from forcing you on the next flight back to New York.

The cab arrived and it took ten minutes to get to the hotel, the time in which you spent going over the inevitable encounter in your head.

_"Hi Brian."_

_"Sunshine."_

_And then you would turn and run and never stop running because some things just never stop hurting._

You squared your shoulders and stepped out of the cab. Emmett and Ted were there to greet you, and you tried to ignore the worried glances they shared before they stepped up and brought you back into the familiar fold of their arms.

Where was he?

-*-

XIII. Brian

You knew he was there without turning around. Mel and Linds glanced over your shoulder and froze, their eyes flitting back to yours. 

You cocked your head to one side, drained your glass, and pivoted on one foot.

He hadn’t changed. His suit made your eyes smart as you were whisked back in time to a moment where you were choosing your wedding outfits together.

His hair was a little longer.

"Justin," you said, with a polite nod, and held out your hand.

He looked at it like it was some sort of foreign animal that was likely to bite, and then looked back at your face, shaking his head.

"You idiot," he whispered, and you weren’t sure whether he was talking about you or himself.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you into an awkward hug. Behind him, people were staring, and almost collapsed in relief when you relented and hugged him back, inhaling his scent.

Everything and nothing had changed.

-*-

Epilogue.

Some people say that love is just a passing fancy and that it can never last. Cynics say that we aren’t designed to mate for life, and sometimes Justin thinks that they are right.

He and Brian were never monogamous, and he doubts they ever will be. But he likes to think that if you wait long enough, if you try hard enough, no matter where you go or who you see, if you really love someone, and they love you back, then you will always be tethered together.

That you can always find your way back home.


	2. After the End

Some people call it making love, as if the correct ingredients have to be found, and a precise recipe has to be followed; a caress here, a kiss there, a careful shifting of skin against skin and a pace that is neither too slow or too fast less the simmer reaches boiling point and you find yourself on the cusp of fucking.

But it’s rarely that controlled, and besides, isn’t that just something other people imagine after reading one too many romance novels with a swooning damsel on the cover? It all seems so woefully _heterosexual._

Mostly it just happens, without candlelight or chilled champagne, and you find yourself subconsciously reaching up to smooth the hair off his brow, your lips grazing over his cheek, and you realize that setting or, God forbid, ambience, has very little to do with it; that somehow during the night you stopped looking at him with that predatory gleam in your eye as he writhed amongst the sweaty bodies on the dance floor, and all you wanted to do was touch him, and keep on touching him, until you are the only two people in the room.

Then suddenly it happens, and you ache so much you feel like you might explode from the intensity of it.

-*-

I. Brian

He pulled away from you far too quickly, offering you a look that you couldn’t decide was pity or understanding. He moved across to the other side of the room to greet Debb, and hand her something that looked suspiciously like a wrapped bottle of wine. 

You forced yourself to turn your back, and half listened to the chatter going on around you, ignoring the glances of worry that were tossed in your direction as you stopped a passing waiter and grabbed a glass from his tray. 

You glanced at your watch - 8:27 - and made yourself stop looking at the exit. Five hours to go and nowhere to hide. You plastered a smile on your face and tried to remember the name of the gallery in Canada where Linds worked, as you asked her about her job, politely nodding every couple of seconds in a hope she would think you were listening. But then you squared your shoulders and picked your eyes up off the floor. You could get through this, even if every part of you was focused on the little blonde twat behind you, his laugh obscurely loud in the echo of the room.

-*-

 

II. Justin

You broke the hug and moved away from him, because if you didn’t then you never would, and you didn’t think it was polite to spend the duration of the party with your face buried in his neck, not to mention incredibly bad for your ‘I’m moving to New York and staying there come hell or high water’ plan.

So you let him go and played the perfect guest, heading straight for Debb and offering her your gift: the most expensive bottle of wine your money could buy. Brian would be surprised at the culture you had managed to soak up whilst schmoozing around art shows in the heart of Soho. But then, Brian didn’t know everything about you anymore, did he?

Everyone was smiles and kisses, but you couldn't help but feel that underneath their façade lay something a little bitter; some sort of accusation that you had been the one to go away, leaving them to look out for Brian as he sat around and waited for you to come back.

But you weren’t planning on ever coming back, were you?

-*-

III. Brian 

The seating plan had you positioned between Michael and Ted. Obviously it wouldn’t have been comfortable for anyone, least of all you, if they had stuck Justin by your side. It didn’t seem whomever had made up the plan had extended their logic further than that, as you found yourself looking up as Debb made a longwinded thank you speech, and looking straight at Justin across the table, two seats to your right.

You couldn’t help but stare as he beamed around the room, answering questions between mouthfuls of filet mignon, about how great New York was, about how many paintings he had sold, about how much he loved the scene there. He glanced in your direction when he said that, and you averted your eyes to your plate in a hurry. Sex had been assigned a new name.

As dessert was served, you found yourself ignoring the rapidly melting ice-cream in favor of watching the way he inclined his head, his hair shining in the dim light, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed. He looked like he had no idea you were eyeing him so intently, and you supposed that nobody else would really have a clue. But you knew differently because you knew him completely. You had spent many hours studying the way his posture was slightly stiffened when he was nervous, and the way his voice lilted at the end of each sentence, perfectly aware that he was playing to your audience.

During coffee you slipped out of the room and vanished into the grounds of the hotel for a cigarette. The air was just too stifling indoors. 

It was just too hard to breathe. 

-*-

IV. Justin

You noticed him slipping out the door and waited for a lull in the conversation to follow him. He stood, highlighted in the doorway, his back to you, and you took a moment to compose yourself before making your presence known.

"Brian."

He turned slightly, his profile highlighted for a second in the glow from his cigarette, and then nodded his head.

"Justin."

You stood by his side, your hands in your pockets, and together you looked out into the night. It was an awkward silence, something you weren’t used to sharing with him, but you found you realized it was inevitable.

Just as you were about to turn and go back inside, he spoke, and it took you a moment to register his voice.

"I’m glad you’re doing well."

_In New York._ You knew that’s what he meant, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

"Thank you. It’s exceeded all of my expectations so far."

That wasn’t a lie. New York was bigger, brighter, bolder, and far more exciting than you ever could have imagined. 

You never thought you would have spent as much time thinking about him as you did.

"So I’ve heard."

That’s when you wondered exactly what he had heard. You couldn’t imagine them sitting around a table in the diner gossiping about the people they knew you had slept with. Then again, you couldn’t imagine them remaining silent on the subject either.

You tried to think of something to respond with. Something witty and hopefully artistically intelligent. But then the seconds passed and the moment vanished. 

Brian threw his cigarette onto the floor and ground it out under one shoe.

"You’re looking good," he said, with a lopsided smile, and touched your arm before rejoining the party.

Every time he turns away you still feel it burning.

-*-

V. Brian

You knew it was going to happen at some point. It was impossible to avoid. But standing there, feeling him behind you, just like it was the old days, when you knew without looking that he had entered your space, you wished you could have avoided the whole situation and claimed that you had something better to do with your time instead of attending the party. 

Like losing your head as you fucked yourself into another dimension.

You refused to speak first. Why make it easy for him when he never once made it easy for you? You supposed that wasn’t exactly fair, but that had never been your game. However much you liked to think you let logic rule your life, your carefully cloaked emotions usually took the lead.

After the first polite exchange, he lapsed into a silence so thick that you almost choked on it. You broke your own rule and threw him a line. It bounced straight back and hit you in the face. So much for false manners.

You finished your cigarette, and with it your excuses for staying a moment longer, and made your way back inside to join everyone else.

The lights were unbearably bright and all you suddenly wished for was your bed.

-*-

VI. Justin.

He left you standing there and it took you a full five minutes to gather yourself up before you headed back inside. Your eyes immediately found him standing in the corner, Michael by his side talking intently. You knew he wasn’t listening. 

You ignored the glances that were cast in your direction, asking why you had followed him outside. You wanted to scream at all of them and tell them you never wanted to rub salt in an old wound. His or yours.

You busied yourself with mingling through the room, repeating the same pre-prepared monologue about how lovely New York was in the fall and how great the lighting was for landscape work. 

You’d barely seen anything other than the four walls of the apartment you shared with Daphne’s musician friend, losing yourself in the scales he played on his piano, transporting you back to a time when you fucked up and threw everything away for a violinist who had lied to you more than Brian ever would.

When you had ventured outside it was to show Daphne or your mother around the neighbourhood, hoping that they wouldn’t notice that you had never been to half the places you took them to. Or to the numerous gallery openings, art shows, clinical little performances you had to endure if you wanted your face to be recognized by the people who mattered.

And the clubs. The thrumming, pounding, whirling kaleidoscope of colours and sounds that allowed you to pretend, just for a couple of hours, that you were dancing in Babylon and that at any minute he would walk in and drag you over to the bar for a quick drink before a visit to the backroom.

"Sunshine?"

You blinked and focused on the face in front of you. Debb with her sequined top and curly red wig, staring into your face as if she could read your soul like the short-hand orders she took down every day at the diner.

"Sorry, Debb, I was miles away."

She gave you one of her looks, as if she was telling you that you may be able to fool yourself but you had never been able to fool her for one second. You wore your heart on your sleeve, isn’t that what she used to say?

"Don’t fucking give me that," she scolded, her lips pursed. The only thing missing was the snap of bubblegum.

You tried to look appropriately surprised, but you could feel a lecture brewing.

"You weren’t miles away, Sunshine," she continued. "You were in this very room. Just not standing here in front of me."

You didn’t need to look behind you to see where her gaze fell.

"Don’t even think about it. He’s fine. We’re all fine. Thinking about coming up there in the spring to take in the sights, pop in on one of your famous shows. Couldn‘t do that if you were back in Pittsburgh, could we?"

She gave you another look and you nodded in reply. 

She always had a way of getting you back on track.

-*-

VII. Brian

You couldn’t help but watch as he played with Gus, pulling a small notebook and a pencil out of god knows where, and sitting down on the floor in his expensive suit, flipping the pages until he found one he hadn’t been doodling on.

Gus was enraptured, as he always was when Justin showered him with attention. His eyes were wide as they followed the lines of his pencil, smiling with pleasure as he began to recognize the cartoon Justin was drawing from one of the Saturday morning shows Gus had insisted on watching, no matter how late you had been up the night before.

You didn’t think it fair of him to make himself familiar again, only to walk straight back out of his life and onto the plane. You could see it in the way Gus held himself still, his focus completely on Justin, tuning out his mothers’ offers of a slice of birthday cake. 

It wasn’t right to get attached again.

 

-*-

VIII. Justin

As you sat, sharing your time between Gus on the floor, praising his crude copy of your cartoon sketch, and chipping in on the conversation Linds was having with Ted about the differences of living somewhere else that wasn’t Pittsburgh, you felt a pair of eyes on you and looked up.

It was almost frightening, the anger behind his gaze, and you drew in a quick breath before looking away. You had expected him to be angry before, and would have welcomed it. Anything other than the silent passivity, as if he had just given up.

You missed his fight, his spark. You had armed yourself with logical reasons as to why you left and why you stayed away and why you wouldn’t speak about any of that now because it was in the past. But they all fell away under the heat from his eyes. 

What use was logic in this situation, anyway?

You took the notebook back from Gus and tore out the page he had drawn on and the picture he was copying. Linds swiped it from your hand before Gus’s fist had a chance to close around it, and forced you to sign the bottom corner.

_Could be worth a fortune in ten years time._

You couldn’t imagine what your life would be like in ten years. Would you feel you were sailing without an anchor like you were now? Would you have your own apartment on upper West, fully equipped with the latest gadgetry like Brian’s loft? Or would you be somewhere else entirely; perhaps Rome or Paris. Somewhere bohemian and fit for an artist-type.

Suddenly you wished you had been able to fulfill your father’s demand to attend business school.

-*-

IX. Brian

The party finally broke, and it felt like days. Your mind was heavy with drink, your shoulders stiff from leaning against the wall for all those hours.

On to Babylon, everyone said. Just like the old times.

Mikey insisted on accompanying you back to the loft and wait while you changed. If this was supposed to be like the old times then why wasn’t he trying to get a look at you as you slipped from your $800 suit and into the more appropriate clubbing apparel?

"What do you think about this shirt?" you asked him, looking in the mirror as you buttoned it up.

"Who gives a shit about the shirt, what about Justin?" he shot back, and you caught a glimpse of his scowling reflection.

"What about him?" you replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put on your shoes. "I’m sure he will approve of the shirt."

Mikey narrowed his eyes and you hid a smile. He always took everything far too seriously.

"That isn’t what I meant. You’re walking around like someone just killed your puppy."

"I’ve never owned a puppy," you pointed out.

He sighed in exasperation and started pacing the floor. "How can you act so calm about the whole thing? If I were you and he were Ben--"

"We’d be living in a disgustingly average house in a disgustingly average street, spending all of our time talking about the best way to weed the daisies and how many minutes the garbage collectors were late this week."

He pulled up short and glared at you, his arms folded across his chest. "Can’t you be fucking serious for once?"

"I am being serious." You gave him a smirk.

"Doesn’t it bother you that he’s here?" he asked to your retreating back as you stood up and walked through into the kitchen, grabbing your cigarettes from the counter-top. 

"Why should it bother me?" you asked innocently, and started for the door.

"Because…"

He trailed off as he followed you out to the elevator. 

You knew he could never bring himself to say it. 

-*-

X. Justin

You were staying with your mother, despite your insistence that you could get a hotel. Apparently it was stupid to waste the money when your old room was sitting there untouched.

It was unhinging, walking back into the space your life had once revolved around. Your old sketches were still pinned to the wall, and your closet door stood open, a few items you had left behind gathering dust on their hangers. 

You walked quietly around, studying everything. It seemed like somebody else’s life. You fingered a couple of the shirts, trying not to remember how you wore this one the first time you saw Brian, when you were still a naïve little boy who had no clue what it meant to fall into someone so deeply you never thought you could find your way out. 

You remember standing there against the lamppost, thinking that perhaps it was a mistake to come down to Liberty Avenue on your own, when you looked up and saw him, approaching his jeep with Mikey and the others. You’d seen plenty of attractive men mingling about, giving you the eye, but none of them could hold a candle to Brian Kinney. He was like a walking wet-dream and it took all of your time to will down the sudden stiffness in your pants.

You couldn’t believe someone like him would show interest in someone like you. Little did you realize that back then you were just another trick. Another marking on a headboard that was more notches than post. 

But you just couldn’t let him go.

-*-

XI. Brian

The club was packed when you entered with Mikey, tuning out his continual ramble about how you should take it easy that night, not get too drunk, play it cool and not let Justin know you were affected by his being there.

But you were never all that fond of lying.

The music pounded through your body like a migraine, and a couple of shots inside of you found you itching to take to the floor. You weaved through the bouncing crowd as they moved like a single entity, and found yourself a prominent spot. 

You tiled your head back, your lips slightly parted, and closed your eyes, absorbing the heat from the people around you. It felt so good to be back, shaking off the last five hours as you moved fluidly under the lights, painting your face red, green, and then gold. 

You felt someone watching you, their eyes roaming down your body and then back up, and you responded with the usual shiver of a thrill. You weren’t all that interested in being cruised tonight, but your body still reacted in the same way. 

You opened your eyes, casting a quick glance over the man in front of you, and that’s when he caught your eye. He was dancing a few feet away in his own little pocket of the club, all at once oblivious and hyper-aware of the people around him. He was shirtless, his chest gleaming under the toxic heat of the lights, and you watched his muscles as they moved lightly under his skin.

But you weren’t the only one watching, and you found yourself staring as a faceless somebody slipped up behind him and ran their hands down his side, resting them possessively against his waist. He looked over his shoulder and smiled slightly, leaning his head back against their chest, and pushed himself back into them.

He knew all of the right moves, and you supposed you had taught him well. But there was something more to it than the precise rules of seduction, and you knew it was something you could never have. There was a light about him, a bright white innocence that stayed with him no matter how much he had been through, how many people he had sucked and fucked, how many bombs had been thrown his way or the bashing he had endured. 

It was like he was untouchable. Like life could never bring him down. You remember after he came out of a coma, how cautious he was for a while, but also how determined. Nothing, not even brain damage, could knock him down for long. 

You almost smiled when you thought about how worried everyone had been about his move to New York, how they tried to call him regularly and check he was sleeping properly and eating right. Whether he had enough money and was making his own friends. Watching him now, from a distance, barely aware of the stranger’s hands moving across your chest as he danced against you, you knew that if anyone could survive, Justin could.

You tried to tell yourself that’s why you had rarely called.

-*-

XII. Justin

It was nice to be picked up so easily, you decided. It seemed so much quicker than when it had happened at the clubs in New York, but it was probably just your imagination. No matter where you went, which club you managed to wangle your way into, the bodies were the same and the desires were always along the lines of a quick fuck or a blowjob in a back alley.

But there was something relaxing about it being back at Babylon, and you were almost surprised at how quickly you fell into it. You barely looked at the guy who was busy wrapping himself around you, his hands everywhere at once; grabbing your ass and trailing down the top of your thighs, maneuvering you to push against his hardening cock every time you thrust your hips backwards. 

It didn’t matter who it was. It was something you needed to erase the awkwardness of the party, the longing you had felt when your plane had hit the ground and you smelled the air of Pittsburgh. 

You had never realized that even trees felt different when they were growing at your home.

As the man took your hand and gestured towards the back room, you followed without hesitation. Your body ached for something to take away the awful memories that flooded your senses as you stepped back into the club: flashes of music and the glitter of someone’s shirt; bloodied bodies and a loud bang as you were thrown backwards; Brian’s voice cracking as he strode through the wreckage and gathered you in his arms. 

_I love you._

-*-

XII. Brian

You watched him being lead away from the dance floor, and you knew where he was going. Moments later when your own trick bent down and whispered in your ear that he had to have you _there, then, now,_ you followed his blonde head through the throngs of people waiting for their own lay, and disappeared into the back room.

The grey-blue lights flickered before stilling, and you worked your way down the passage, nodding occasionally to a familiar shadow or a bobbing head. The man’s hand was sweaty in yours, and you wondered how often he had done this before. 

You stopped underneath some rusted pipes and pushed him up against the wall, pressing his face against the rough stone, as your hands worked quickly on his belt. 

Then your eyes were drawn sideways and there he was, his fingers running over the heated flesh of the man’s back, his hands pushing up his shirt and diving underneath to smooth up his spine. 

Your body tensed and a cold shiver fell over your skin. It was like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

You managed to undo the belt and snapped the buttons on his jeans, pushing the denim down to his knees. You bent him over slightly, watching as Justin did the same to his, and pulled a condom out of your pocket, baring your teeth.

Twin rips.

You forced yourself up into him, grunting slightly with the effort, your eyes fixed on the way a lock of hair fell in Justin’s eyes during the pressure of his own entrance. His fingers splayed over the man’s ribs and found his nipples.

Yours began to ache.

He pulled himself out slowly, agonizingly slowly, and looked up.

Your eyes met.

You adjusted your angle and began to fuck him slowly, the slip-sliding of your balls against his ass like a metronome guiding you through the motions.

Your rhythm was slow, steady, and you took your time. Gone were the desires to fuck him so hard he bled. Your hand caressed his stomach and found his cock. Suddenly you wanted to help his release. 

Justin fucked his guy just as slowly, blinking lazily in the half-light as he watched your fingers stroking and pulling, one of his hands subconsciously moving to do the same. 

The symphony was almost painful and for a moment all you could see was a pair of clear blue eyes, a body under you on a mattress; a long, drawn out goodbye, and tears on a pale face that were echoed on your own. 

Justin thrust into him again and again, his hips snapping in a leisurely cadence. You licked your lips, moaning as his hands finally found their goal, and you felt your cock twitch in response.

He was everywhere. The smell of him, the sight of him, the feel of him against your flesh., the way his bottom lip was drawn tightly between his teeth.

You came hard, your eyes wide open, affixed on his. 

The man underneath you pulled away with a look of disgust, his voice loud amongst the myriad of groans in the backroom.

"I was told you like it rough."

-*-

Epilogue. 

Some say that time is a great healer and that anything bad will pass. They tell you that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but Justin thinks that they had never been in love in the first place.

It was never easy, loving Brian Kinney, and he didn’t suppose it ever would be. But he wasn’t about to stop. Some things, he knew, were worth the pain and the trouble, and he knew that even if nobody believed him, there would never be anybody else who could come close. 

He wasn’t sure if he even wanted them to.


	3. After the End

Prologue.

Some people say that when everything else is gone, hope is what is left; it’s almost as if they believe that when all else fails, the human spirit manages to go on existing because tomorrow is always another day.

But isn’t that something soap operas are made of? A tiny pinprick of light that pulls the characters back from the edge just when they are about to take a nosedive over the cliff?

Real life doesn’t always work that way - it’s rarely that dramatic. Mostly it’s just the passing of seconds, ticking by on the hand of a clock; monotonous routine day-to-day living that you cling onto, that keeps you from going insane, barely daring to draw a breath in case it pushes you past the point of no return.

Then one day the clouds break and that tiny glimpse of Sunshine is all it takes to put you back on track.

-*-

I. Brian

The alarm startled you awake and you rolled over, grunting, punching haphazardly at the button until your silence is restored. You felt the warmth in your bed before you saw it, and you opened one eye, peering blearily at the figure sprawled out beside you.

Through the haze of receding sleep his blonde head looked awfully familiar, and for just one second you allowed yourself to believe that he had come home to you. You reached out to touch his hair, winding the strands around your fingers, ignoring the length and the style.

Perhaps he had it cut?

His hand uncurled itself, revealing the previously obscured face, and you closed your eyes, trying to hold onto the image in your brain for just one more moment. 

"Christ, where am I?"

The baritone severed your dream, and you sighed, heaving yourself upright against the headboard.

"In hell," you replied. "This must be your lucky day. Now get dressed and get the fuck out."

He gave you a strange look which you blatantly ignored, and began to get dressed. On your way to the bathroom you paused to get a good look at him.

What on earth were you thinking?

You ignored the achingly familiar voice in your head that tells you that you probably weren’t.

-*-

II. Justin

You woke up smelling of sex, a regular occurrence these days. You lay in your bed, trying to piece together the events of the previous night, and found yourself struggling to remember a name or a face. Nothing strange about that either. All you could remember is a pair of haunting brown eyes and the echo of an orgasm you get the feeling is wise to forget. 

Downstairs your mother was making waffles and smiled at you in a way you’re certain is a construct of sympathy more than anything else. You ignored your plate and blindly poured some coffee, burning your tongue on your first sip.

"Did you have fun last night?" she asked innocently, her look lingering far too long.

"I can’t remember." You shrugged, ignoring the way she pursed her lips before finally handing you the syrup. 

Breakfast with a side of disapproval is always a good way to start the day.

-*-

III. Brian

The office was empty when you arrived, and you began by going through the accounts of your latest clients, noting their concerns down on a legal pad and leaving them on Cynthia’s desk to deal with when she comes in.

Ted ambled through the door ten minutes late, with a stinking hangover, and you wasted another twenty lecturing him on the importance of work ethics, insisting he make up the time at the end of the day. 

He was nice enough not to remind you of your conspicuous absence the previous week.

Lunch brought with it a visit from Mikey and JR, who’s still young enough to have the women who work for you cooing over her in delight. Mikey eventually bundled her off to Melody in the arts department and firmly closed your door, tapping the executives’ toy on your desk with one finger, activating the swinging motion.

"How can I help you?" you asked him, steepling your fingers and putting on your best professional voice.

"Did you fuck him last night?" Mikey has never been one to beat around the bush.

"Who would that be?" you asked, playing dumb, a smile on your face.

"Justin!" he exclaimed, shaking his head.

You busied yourself rearranging papers on your desk, leaving him to stew in the wild stories his imagination had already concocted. 

Five minutes passed in silence.

"Well?" he demanded, and you raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest.

"Well what?" you asked, and then rolled your eyes. "Oh! You mean your idiotic question, which while we’re on the subject, is none of your god damn business."

"The hell it isn’t!" he shot back, his voice raising a notch, his fingers tightening around the arms of his seat.

"I didn’t fuck him," you told him finally, suddenly tired, hoping honesty brings a quicker route to his exit. 

He studied you for a moment, trying to decipher the truth from the blank look on your face.

"Good," he finalized, seemingly happy with what he saw.

You were not sure you entirely agreed with his assessment. 

-*-

IV. Justin

You spent most of the morning in your mother’s house playing with Molly. You thought that the next person to tell you that something you created to entertain a child would be worth a fortune one day would get a quick punch in the face.

You managed to escape just after lunch, deciding it was obviously a sign to go when Molly started making two of her action figures - one blonde, one dark - kiss and walk down an imaginary aisle.

The diner was teeming with people when you entered and you took a moment to stand by the door, soaking everything up as if you weren’t sure you would see it again. You studied the way the little twink in the tank top filled his orders, snorting when he got them wrong twice in a row, and itched to snatch the apron from him and show him how it was done.

"Sunshine!" Debb exclaimed as she passed you with her hands full of pink plate specials, her face red and flustered. She was entirely in her element. "Sit over there by the counter and I’ll be with you in a second," she told you, and you pulled out a stool.

You hadn’t planned on staying, but Debb always had a way about her that made you comply with her orders.

"You just missed Ted and Emmett," she said as she began wiping the surface in front of you. "They tell me you managed to reacquaint yourself with Babylon’s etiquette pretty damn quickly."

She snapped her gum and beamed at you as if you had just won the Turner prize, and plonked a mug of coffee down in front of you.

"They don’t grow them in New York like they do in Pittsburgh," you replied, ducking your head.

Debb scribbled down the order of the man sitting two seats away and laughed in response. God, you missed that sound.

If you were honest you missed most things about Pittsburgh: the bustle of the diner, the swaying sweaty bodies in Babylon, walking along Liberty Avenue and feeling there was somewhere safe where you felt you could be yourself.

And yes…even _him._

Debb leaned on the counter when she came back from handing the order to the cook, and tapped a button on her vest. ‘Pride’ it read.

"There’s nowhere on earth like Pittsburgh," she said. She tapped another button just to the side of it. ‘I love New York’ it screamed in bold red type. "But it’s definitely not a place where dreams are made."

She grinned at you as if she held all of the secrets in the world and dished them out alongside plates of burgers and fries.

You looked back at the buttons.

They weren’t so far away from each other after all.

-*-

V. Brian

You finished work early, leaving Cynthia and Ted to tie things up, and headed down Liberty Avenue in your Prada suit, brushing past the men who stopped to give you a second glance.

The diner was crowded when you entered, and you looked around for an empty booth. Finding them all occupied you approached the counter, drawing up short when you saw who was sitting there.

Debb smiled at you on her way past, and patted your shoulder. "Coffee, black, hold the sugar?" she asked, knowing full well the answer.

You slipped into the chair next to him and opened your paper, trying to look like you had better things to do than make conversation.

"Never realized you cared about teenage mothers and their housing plights," Justin said, looking over your shoulder, a knowing smile playing over his lips.

You shut the paper with a scowl and drank from your cup, eyeing him over the rim.

"Good day?" he asked, his eyes running over your suit, leaving you feeling strangely exposed.

"Average day," you replied. "Working on a campaign for Fishers."

"The clothing manufacturer?" he asked, leaning a little too close for your liking. "I’m not sure even you can make thermal underwear look sexy."

You snorted and drained your cup, reaching over the counter for the pot, helping yourself to a refill. "I make everything look sexy."

His silence was his response. He couldn’t exactly disagree with you there.

-*-

VI. Justin

There were two ways you could play it with Brian: cool and aloof, leaving no room for flirtation; or you could carry on as if you had never left in the first place. You abandoned the first idea pretty quickly. It took too much energy to pretend that he didn’t get underneath your skin. And besides, if last night was anything to go by, it didn’t exactly work out the way you had planned it anyway.

At least acting the second way meant you got to see him smile occasionally, and anyway, despite the way he held himself, his face a careful mask making sure he didn’t betray any emotions, you were sure that he was affected by this visit too.

Even if it was just a little bit.

You felt giddy when you leaned in close to him to peer at his paper and caught a whiff of his scent. He was wearing new cologne with a heavy spicy tang, but underneath that there was something familiar that made your stomach clench. 

"So what’s your housemate like?" he asked casually, his first real question since you had come back.

"He’s alright," you replied, busying yourself with pouring sugar into your cup. "He’s not around very often, and when he is he pretty much keeps himself to himself."

"I hear he’s a musician," he said, giving you a look. "Piano isn’t it?"

You nodded, wondering what he was getting at. "He’s pretty good at it too."

"I see."

Brian watched you and you felt like it was some sort of test. 

"You make a habit out of shacking up with musicians," he said, and took another sip from his cup.

Oh!

Ouch.

"He’s straight, Brian," you told him, cutting right to the heart of what you assumed was bothering him.

He sniffed in reply and picked up his paper again. Fuck, when did it get to this?

Debb came back over, topping up your cup, and leant against the counter, watching you both.

"How long are you staying for, Sunshine?" she asked softly, her eyes on Brian.

You shrugged in response. "A few days, maybe a week. I have a show in three weeks time and I have to get back to prepare for that."

Debb nodded and you glanced up, catching the tail end of her sympathetic look.

Brian had his nose buried in the sports section.

-*-

VII. Brian

Going to the club each night kept you busy, and that’s the reason you gave yourself as you pushed your way through the crowd, nodding a greeting every now and again. It had nothing to do with the boy at the bar, laughing his head off at something Emmett had just said.

Nothing at all.

You gestured to the barman who poured you a drink, and settled down next to Ted who was busy staring morosely into his glass.

"Where’s Blake?" you asked him, savoring the burn of the Beam down your throat.

"Boston," he replied, looking like he had just been kicked. "He’s attending a conference about new methods in rehabilitation."

"New methods?" you snorted. "I was always under the impression there were only two ways to do rehab: either you came out spanking clean, waxing lyrical about the evils of illicit drug use," you paused to inhale from the tiny vial you kept in your shirt pocket, "or you came out and headed to the nearest dealer, landing you back in there within the week."

Ted visibly stiffened, giving you a disapproving look. "Just because you manage to maintain what appears to be a non-addictive habit doesn’t mean everyone is as lucky."

"What can I say?" you smiled, slinging an arm over his shoulder and picking up his glass. "I’m a natural born user." You took a swig, wrinkling your nose up at the taste. "What the hell is this shit?"

"Tonight’s special cocktail," he replied, looking smug. "It’s your fault if it sucks."

"Sucking." You looked pensive. "Now there’s a subject I can really get my teeth into."

Ted winced.

Out of the corner of your eye you watched Emmett trying to coax Justin out onto the dance floor by pouting at him and flinging his arms out in flamboyant exasperation.

Justin laughed, finally relenting, and let Emmett hook his fingers through the belt loop of his pants, leading him through the gyrating people like a dog on a leash.

You tuned out Ted’s diatribe on the twelve-step program and ordered another drink.

-*-

VIII. Justin

You hated to admit it but you were having fun. You were skeptical when Emmett turned up at the house wearing a bright pink shirt and leather pants so tight you wondered if he could sit down in them, and insisted you were going out.

You went to Woody’s first, and were surprised at how many people came up to you to enquire about New York. It seemed nothing remained private in Liberty Avenue.

Emmett convinced you it was a good idea to work your way through the cocktail list for ‘old time’s sake’ and by the time he started bringing up the subject of Brian and the wedding-that-never-was, you were too drunk to defend yourself against it.

"I’ve known Brian for years," he mused, resting his chin in his hand. "And I never pinned him down as the marrying type."

"He isn’t," you responded, sloshing your drink over the side of your glass as you attempted to get it to connect to your lips. "Why do you think we didn’t do it?"

"Because you left for New York," Emmett replied, watching you. He did an admirable job of making you feel guilty without ever intending to.

"Partly," you admitted. "But that was just a small portion of it. It was one of the expressions of the cause."

Emmett considered this as he stuck his straw in his mouth and delicately sipped on his Cosmo. "Michael said it was something to do with sex."

"That too." You hiccoughed and managed to put your glass back down on the table without spilling another drop.

"I thought you always had a fantastic sex life," he continued. "If it was becoming stale you could always have used some toys to spice it up."

You hid a smile and shook your head. "It wasn’t anything like that. Sex with Brian…" you trailed off, barely caring about the vaguely dreamy expression that had bound to have crossed your face.

"Sweetie, I’ve heard the stories," Emmett finished. "Brian Kinney, the best fuck in Pittsburgh, able to keep going all night." He waved one hand dismissively, almost swatting a guy on his way to the bar. "Yes, yes, I know all that. So what _is_ it?"

"Monogamy," you said, twirling a tiny blue umbrella between your fingers. "That, and cuddling."

Emmett gave you a knowing look. "We’ve always told you that he’d never be the type to curl up in bed with a mug of cocoa, and consider an evening of Letterman a worthwhile pursuit. I thought you had realized that by now."

You sighed in exasperation and looked suspiciously at the toxic-looking cocktail the barman had just placed in front of you. "I had," you said, dipping your finger into the drink and licking it experimentally. "I worked that out a long time ago, and what’s more, I came to understand that I just didn’t care. Brian is Brian, and I…" you paused, choosing your words carefully, "care about him the way he is."

Emmett tapped one of his long fingers against his cheek. "So what exactly was the problem then? By the time you tell me all of the cute guys at Babylon will have settled down for the night!"

You smiled and leaned back in your chair, scratching the back of your head. "Brian was the one going on about monogamy and…cuddling. He thought it was what I wanted." You could barely bring yourself to mention it.

"Noooooooo!" Emmett exclaimed, his eyes wide. "The slut of the Pitts wanted to cuddle?!"

You nodded solemnly and watched as he dissolved into peals of laughter. You sunk a little lower in your seat, trying to hide behind your drink.

Emmett recovered himself enough to stop you worrying he may collapse at any moment from a heart attack, and pulled himself to his feet.

"Well, sweetie," he said, offering you his hand. "I hate to say it, but it does explain a hell of a lot. Now let’s go dance!"

You took his hand and followed him out of the bar. 

You really didn’t think you wanted to know what he had meant by that.

-*-

IX. Brian

You scowled over your glass as you watched them dance, eyeing Emmett through narrowed eyes as he bumped his hip against Justin’s. They were both far too drunk for their own good, you decided, ignoring the half empty bottle you insisted the bartender leave by your side.

It wasn’t right, you thought, as you watched Justin throw his arms around Emm’s neck, grinning all over the place, that he could come back just like that and act like nothing had changed. He’d only go away again, back to his prissy little apartment and his prissy little life, leaving you to brush off everyone’s attempts at engaging you in social activities, while at the same time trying not to show too much pity. 

"Alright there, Brian?" Mikey nudged you as he slipped into the seat by your side.

You grunted and pulled out a cigarette, lit it and took a long drag.

Mikey looked over towards Justin and Emmett and then back at you. He opened his mouth to say something.

"Where’s the little hubby tonight?" you cut in quickly before he had a chance to comment.

"He took Hunter to the movies," Mikey replied. "So I thought I’d come down here and hang out for a while."

"I don’t need a babysitter," you shot at him, glancing over with a frown on your face. "I’m perfectly capable of sitting here and getting drunk all alone."

"That’s what I was afraid of," he replied, nonplussed, and took a sip of your drink.

You watched him carefully, running your tongue over your teeth. "Haven’t you got something better to do, like spending valuable time with the Boy Wonder before he catches his flight home?"

Mikey rolled his eyes. "I’m sure Emmett can cope."

You sat in silence for a while, trying to ignore the little looks he kept on casting in your direction, until you finally snapped. "What?!" you exclaimed, pulling a face.

Mikey shrugged. "You’re allowed to be bothered by it all. I know I would be if--"

"If Ben was doing the same. Yes, I’ve already heard it so save your fucking breath." You ground out your cigarette, half finished.

"Well," he snorted. "Maybe it’s best if Justin stays away if this is how you act when he’s around."

You glared at him, and it was at that moment that Justin and Emmett decided to reappear, saving Mikey from a fate worse than death. They propped each other up as they laughed and ordered some drinks, both of them out of breath.

"Mikey!" Emmett grinned and pulled him into a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"He figured out how to unlock his cage all by himself," you replied, and leaned over to pinch Mikey’s cheek.

He scowled and started to repeat Ben’s whereabouts. You felt a pair of eyes on you and looked up, straight into Justin’s face.

He looked slightly ruffled from dancing, pink in the cheeks, his hair falling across one eye. You felt an overwhelming urge to reach over and brush it away, so you looked back at your drink.

"Come dance with us, Mikey!" Emmett insisted, and tried to pull him off his stool. 

Mikey began to shake his head, so you poked him hard in the ribs. "You barely come out with us anymore," you said. "Why don’t you go all out and try and recapture your youth?"

"Fuck you!" Mikey laughed. "You’re older than I am."

You gave him a toothy grin. "I’ll always be young."

Emmett tugged on his arm again and he finally relented, standing up. "Just one song," he warned and they disappeared into the crowd.

His seat vacated, Justin plonked himself down and picked up your Beam, taking a swig. "You drink too much," he said, his eyes slightly glazed over.

You raised one eyebrow and prised his fingers away from the bottle, taking a swig for yourself. "And you haven’t been?"

"No, not nearly enough!" he declared and pillowed his head on top of his arms, resting on the surface of the bar. "I’ve only had…" he tried to calculate in his head and ended up having to resort to using his fingers.

You looked at him expectantly when he frowned, a confused look crossing his face.

"What?"

"Not enough fingers," he replied, sticking his bottom lip out, and grabbed one of your hands.

You swallowed, your eyes fixed on his face as he counted up his tally again, adding three of your digits to the total.

"Thirteen, I think," he said, tilting his head. "Nine at Woody’s, which is one of every cocktail they make, and four here."

"That’s a lot of drinks," you commented, cursing your voice for sounding so rough. 

"Hmm," he mused, and began to trace nonsense patterns across your palm with his fingertips. 

One look at his face told you he had no idea he was doing it.

"Hmm?" you parroted, half telling yourself to shut up, and half forcing yourself to say something, anything, to keep the conversation going. 

And the incessant movement of his fingers.

"Everyone says thirteen is an unlucky number," Justin mused, his eyes on your hand. "What do you think?"

"I think…" you wetted your lips, "that it’s just a number. It’s neither lucky or unlucky."

He considered this with such an intense look on his face that you almost laughed.

"I think it’s a lucky number," he told you, "no matter what people say."

"Why’s that?" you asked, your eyes wide as you watched him.

"A number of reasons." He shrugged. "I was thirteen years old when I won my first art competition. There were only thirteen places available to eighty-five students vying for admittance when I got accepted into the Institute of Fine Arts."

He looked up at you again, his face like an open book. "And it took approximately thirteen minutes to realize I loved you."

The song ended and another started, causing a group of people nearby to jump from their seats and head towards the dance floor, jostling you on their way.

You pulled your hand from his as if you had been stung.

It had been the thirteenth of the month when he went away.

-*-

X. Justin

You scowled as the men knocked into Brian, forcing his hand away, and brushed off the mild surprise you felt when you looked up into his face, putting his expression down to the same annoyance you were feeling.

You whistled to catch the barman’s attention, and asked for a couple of shots, handing one to Brian.

"I think that should be your last," he said, making a face as he knocked his own back.

"But I’m on vacation!" you protested, and ordered a second round. "And besides, I don’t get drunk very often in New York."

"No?" he asked, sounding tired. Perhaps he was the one who should learn to stop.

"No," you confirmed, rather petulantly. "I don’t know anybody to drink with on a regular basis, and the times I am out I’m either at a gallery, where it’s not the correct thing to consume too much of the free champagne," you paused, smiling as you remembered the time Daphne came up to see you and was so enamoured with the fact that she didn’t have to pay, that she drank so much she was sick.

"Or?"

You glanced at him, trying to focus on his face. "Or what?"

"Either at the gallery, or…" he prompted.

"Oh. Yeah there wasn’t anything else." You avoided his eyes. You didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him that the only other times you were drinking were when your plan was to get so inebriated it didn’t matter who you were fucking.

_And then you could pretend…_

Brian shrugged and toyed with the shot in front of him, before he poured that one down his throat as well. He looked up as the barman removed the now empty bottle of Beam and gave you both a third and final shot. 

"I thought you said I shouldn’t have anymore," you told Brian as he pushed yours over to you.

"You’re a big boy now, Justin," he replied. "I’m sure you’ve worked out when enough is enough." He raised one eyebrow at you.

Indeed you had.

-*-

XI. Brian

"You never called," he said after a while, and you pulled your gaze away from Mikey and Emmett to glance at him.

"I’m not much for phones," you replied with a shrug.

It didn’t deter him.

"You never came to see me," he continued after five minutes had passed.

"I was busy with the new accounts."

And trying your best to convince yourself that while you never wanted to see Brighton again, holding onto it was a worthy investment.

"Didn’t you get the invitation to my first show?"

You looked away again before you caught a glimpse of the hurt in his eyes. 

"I got it. I just didn’t see the point in going; what the fuck do I know about art?"

"You always said you liked my stuff."

You sighed and toyed with your lighter. "Justin, I did like your stuff. I do like it."

You buy all the magazines that give him reviews.

"Then why didn’t you come?" His voice was full of accusation.

"Do you really think you would have wanted me there?" you replied. "It had been less than a month."

"Everyone else came."

You could hear the pout in his voice and looked across to see him sitting with his arms folded across his chest, glaring at you.

"Good for them," you replied. You refused to get into this. He made a choice to leave and you made one to stay away. It didn’t change anything.

Sometimes you wished it had.

-*-

VII. Justin

For someone you cared about, Brian had an uncanny knack for pissing you off. Sometimes it felt like he went deliberately out of his way just to annoy you.

It sure as hell worked.

Michael returned to the bar, shaking his head at a pleading Emmett who was demanding just one more dance. You looked over through the pulsating lights to the jumble of bodies on the dance floor, lost in their own little worlds, high on their own energy, perhaps more. You envied them, even though you knew each had their own problems. Their own dreams.

None of them had god damn Brian Kinney.

You grabbed the glass of whiskey from the barman as he moved to place it in front of Michael, and drank it down in one, slamming it back down on the bar.

You stood up and stretched. "I feel like dancing," you said, and turned to Brian, a determined set to your jaw. "Come with me."

He blinked up at you, his shoulders hunched as if he was trying to block out the world, and furrowed his brow. Evidently he thought you were crazy.

"I’m not going to take no for an answer," you informed him, feeling full of drink, bravado, and something else you failed to pinpoint and refused to analyze. 

He opened his mouth as if to speak, and you held up one hand.

"You once told me that I should grow some balls," you said. "I took your advice then, and I have applied it ever since. I’m not going to leave you alone until you dance with me."

You ignored the slack-faced stares from Emmett and Michael, and stood up, wobbling slightly, and put your hands on your hips.

"Well?" you asked, daring him with your eyes, and spun around, waltzing off into the crowd without a backward glance.

You crossed your fingers in front of you as you found a space and started dancing, closing your eyes and hoping that if he didn’t follow then the next time you opened them you would find yourself in your own bed, the entire evening relegated to nothing more than a particularly nasty nightmare.

You didn’t dare to dream.

-*-

XIII. Brian

The little fucker, having the audacity to use your own advice against you! Served you right, you supposed. For taking someone so young under your expensively tailored wing.

You stared at his retreating back until Emmett made his presence known, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

"Are you going to just sit there?" he demanded. "He’s drunk out of his mind and anyone could take advantage." 

You groaned and pushed yourself away from the bar, ignoring the satisfied look he gave Mikey.

Shit, since when were you Justin’s keeper?

You shoved people out of the way as you made your way towards him, and shook your head as you caught sight of his face in the spotlights. Little shit looked so blissed out that you were surprised he wasn’t asleep.

You moved up behind him, steadying him with your hands on his hips, feeling them shift under your palms, and caught the end of a soft sigh as he leant his back against you and continued to dance. It was easy to match his rhythm, soothing almost, because you didn’t have to answer any of his awkward questions anymore.

Your lids half closed and you lost yourself to the familiar beat thrumming through you, almost as if it was flowing through your veins instead of blood.

He turned around under your hands and slung one of his arms over your shoulder for balance, his eyes opening and locking onto yours.

You stared back into his face. He looked impossibly young all of a sudden, and you were reminded of all those years ago when he was still a teenager, stalking you around your familiar haunts, acting as if he just stayed around long enough then you would eventually come around to his way of thinking.

You guessed you had.

You didn’t stop him as he reached up and ran a thumb across your cheek. You imagined there were lines where none had been before, and subconsciously shrank back a bit.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing firmly against your skin, and pulled your head down to his level.

His lips were soft and parted easily under yours. It was a dangerous game, and one you had willingly courted many times before. 

You pulled back, almost as if everything was in slow motion, and pressed your forehead against his.

"You’re drunk," you whispered your lips brushing his as you spoke.

"I know," he replied, and gave you a half-smile. "I always have been."

-*-

Epilogue.

Some people say that it’s foolish to place everything on a distant hope, a passing fancy, that no matter what happens, everything will turn out alright, and sometimes Justin agrees.

He doesn’t believe in destiny or the idea that his entire life is down to chance. He believes that his decisions create his fate. Sometimes they may be the right decisions. Sometimes they may be wrong.

You just have to learn to live with the ones you make.


End file.
